


The Witching Hour

by MaRuX



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Eventual Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, basically sex, snarky Damara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaRuX/pseuds/MaRuX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damara was a crazy dead Witch who would probably eat his heart out and he was actually okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Witching Hour

**Author's Note:**

> My first contribution to this fandom is porn, yes.

* * *

Meenah was as chipper and shark-toothed as ever, always the first to bite a chunk bigger than she could swallow. She kept running around the dreambubble, searching for pawns to turn into recruits for her "army". Foolish little fish princess. Conceited little bitch.

The brat still loved to talk even when dead. She frequently mentioned all the other beings she encountered during her little mission. Besides the trolls - both living and dead- she sometimes mentioned her findings on a different species as well.

Damara was too deep in the darkness of her own thoughts to even care.

* * *

 There were others around there too, all caught up in their own little games and asking things and assuming whatever the hell they wanted about everyone and everything, including about her.

The Witch readily opened her pretty red mouth to speak whenever asked; her language was foreign to most of them, but the meaning clear and vague enough to unsettle them. She spoke the most vulgar of words in broken sentences, to cut someone with her own poison. (Rufioh, the heartless fucker, actually treated her like they could still be friends after everything that happened.)

She was sick of them. Sometimes her hatred was too strong to manifest itself properly.

Damara went for a walk.

* * *

 The Witch had heard enough from the fishy bitch to know a human when she saw one, although that wasn't really what made her stop in her tracks and actually look at the creature more closely.

 ('Jikan'- the sun between temple gates, the bright sunset on the horizon, sharp barbs and graves for the dead with stars underneath.)

 All pale white and nearly translucent. Practically glowing in the contrasting light from their own ruby red aura, their figure burning the inside of her eyelids, warming something tight and dormant within her. The heavy coating of Time, all syrupy sweet and heavy molasses, dripping down and making one's blood stutter, gently pulsed from his - he, male- being. Gentle, that's what it was. She never actually encountered another Hero of Time besides herself, and his presence made something new settle in her bones.

 They regarded each other with calm and composed curiosity. The ticking of Time echoed in each other's veins.

"Sup" the alien boy spoke. His voice rattled in and the air around her, settling somewhere between her shoulder blades and lower belly.

Damara lazily exhaled a puff of smoke in the air and nodded. "Domo."

* * *

The Witch of Time had dimples in her cheeks, on either sides of her cruel red smile.

She had been bathed in the most sinful hellfire, slick poison polished into the sharp edges of her being. Her eyes - a glazed blank white – showing she was no longer among the living, but she looked so vicious. She said the most weirdly perverted things and he didn’t know how to react at first.

He quickly got over it.

After meeting a few more times, Dave jerked off in his room at the thought of a mad woman’s smile with plump red lips, the slow exhale of smoke which seemed almost obscene all by itself, the modest skirt swishing right above her knees with an outfit usually seen in hentai scenarios and the slender arch of her little neck and her perfect perky little tits and her utter lewd _words_.

Damara was a crazy dead Witch who would probably eat his heart out and he was actually okay with that.

* * *

He was a red Knight, with pale soft-looking hair like the thinnest spun moonlight and ridiculous eye-wear. His name was Dave Strider and he, like her, said things just for the sake of fucking with people. (His lies smelled like truths tweaked the other way around, to cover for his lack of confidence or the stench of unease.) Like all the others, he liked to talk a lot as well. But the time they spent together was in fact tolerable, more so than with any other person so far.

They both talked mostly to themselves, neither really trying to be understood by the other. Damara kept spouting the usual obscenities in her broken Japanese and Dave told her his own, with all sorts of alien references. He rambled whenever having pesky phantom pains caused by the past; she kept silent whenever she had her own, but they always stood back to back, sitting on mounds of sand on the memory of a beach and never looking at the sunset. She always sat on the lower edge of his cape to not get grains under her skirt and not even once did he complain. She allowed herself to regard his presence as genuinely kind. His back was warm.

She sometimes thought about how much she wanted to spill her former friends' blood while their hands hovered close to each other. He has no claws, his fingers long and slender (harmless-looking) and just as pale as the rest of him.

His features were odd compared to that of a troll. The entire composition of his skin was something far from their own. He smiled cockily, like the most relaxed piece of shit in paradox space, and Damara sometimes wanted to smash his face; she wanted to memorize his soft clingy scent and odd creamy skin, claw at him and sink herself into the Knight, twist him from the inside out, until she reached his core and tasted it, drank it all with her bare hands and then lick her fingers clean.

They always parted with no goodbyes, sometimes a nod but not much else. Like their parting was only temporary. Like their time together was a constant thing, never truly ending. It felt incomplete due to the lack of finality in their encounters, yet not knowing when (if) they would meet again. The thought of never having this shared moment of solitude with the red Knight didn’t help with keeping her sane.

Damara always waited with her cigarette clenched tight between her teeth until their next encounter.

* * *

 One time, as the bubble came into contact with the meteor again, the Witch found herself in Dave’s room as he was changing into a long-sleeved shirt. She saw the soft lines of his muscles and the sharpness in his hipbones shifting underneath white skin and she remembered all the obscenities she had spit out the first time they met.

He had shown her his sword collection that day and she glanced approvingly at their polished glint.

* * *

She encountered Rufioh as she was walking around the dreambubble, and needless to say he had never learned how he becoming paralyzed from the neck up was due to his own mistakes. The fucking idiot once again proved himself to be his usual douchebag self - unconsciously inconsiderate to the point of cruelty. His soft-spoken sentences and unassuming smile left her cold from the inside out, summoning hatred in silent stony disgust. His voice kept ringing in her ears for a long time after he left, at some point not registering the words anymore but rattling her insides nevertheless.

She found herself hopping through dreambubbles in a daze, searching for something she could not name. Perhaps she was going mad all over again. She was a clock wound too tightly, going too fast, her limbs rusted; de-synchronizing, chimingchimingchimingtick tock ticktock tickticktockticktock tick ticktick, like a long feverish dream…

 After a small eternity spent this way, the next time she encountered the meteor the Witch did not give him any time to open his smart mouth and tackled Dave to the ground. A curious sound came out as the air rushed out from his lungs and

Time crawled and stuttered and

 just

 stopped

 around them both, from under her hands and she felt all the pieces fall back into place - click - and

 tick

 tock.

 Her breath heavy, she balled her tiny hands into fists as she felt her own mind sharpen into focus once more, yet emotions still raw, running rampant and too intense to distinguish.

Damara saw red.

She wanted to scream, to rip something, anything, into tiny tiny shreds - stupid fuckin’ Rufioh, stupid quadrants, fuckin’ stupid smooth soft Knights…

Her grip on his collar was strong and he heard the fabric rip.

 "Whoa, hey...!" his shirt had been torn open and her claws scratched his skin.

He flailed underneath her as he tried to get out of her shaky grip. She was bordering on vicious, unseeing in her rage. He rolled over and out of her grasp with alien flexibility and paused in a low crouch a few steps away, ready to sprint into action at the slightest provocation. She paused and looked at the Knight; then reached for one of the long sharp needles pinned in her hair bun. Dave didn’t know if those were just sharp objects to hit him with, or similar to Rose’s needlewands; so he jumped and caught the Witch by the wrists, stopping her from getting any kind of weapons.

 “What the fuck is your problem” he asked, his voice high and inquisitive and her limbs felt small and thin underneath his fingers. But his skin was strange and warm like a furnace and she stood there, silent, not looking at his face. She squirmed and twisted her wrists, silently telling him to let go. He didn’t.

 “What’s gotten into you, Megido?” he asked. He seemed concerned; if she hadn’t realized already that this was the kind of person he was, she’d have thought he was faking it. But his simplistic ways of being were as stupid as they were genuine. And he was going to pester her until she’d answer his inquiries. (He didn’t assume from the start that this just further proved how unstable and antisocial she was, like all the others would have done. But she really was insane, so very broken and twisted and dark and she wanted to hurt so very badly…)

In the end, she raised her head and looked him in the eye, her pretty red mouth tight-lipped and furious. He stood silent, taking her in, wary yet strangely preoccupied. He didn’t release her, his grip unwavering.

The Witch leaned her forehead on the Knight’s chest, red lashes against gray cheeks, dead eyes closed. (She felt tired, the same flavor of rage time coating her insides; it felt so old, turning stale, making her insides - her gears- rust even worse.)  

She was hearing this little tick from within his chest, constant and organic. He had the core of a clock in there, beating like a drum underneath her ear - persistent and unwavering. Damara placed her palm right over it (she could still move her arms but the Knight's hands still effectively shackled the Witch burn the Witch burn burn burn ticktocktick) and she contemplated this strange little thing. She thought about sinking her hand inside of him deep enough to reach it and look at it closely. Maybe it was as soft as the rest of him - warm and oddly-textured, tender, stubborn enough to be able to chew it like gum between her teeth.

“Damara?” Dave asked again and she felt his voice reverberating in his own chest. She slapped her other hand on the surface of his skin, palm spread open right next to the other and he was silent, still holding her wrists. He was radiating heat and a slight sheen of moisture through his pores. He was afraid, but unwavering nonetheless. He was a Knight to the bone. Her claws lightly hooked onto him, her hands wicked, deadly little spiders ready to bite and she felt him stiffen.

_Pause._

She slowly turned her head and reached for his face with her blood-red lips, kissing him softly, eyes still closed and hands bound tightly.

_Tick_

_Tick-tock_

_Tick_

 Tock

 His grip softened as he kissed her back, his lips like feathery wings caressing her skin in slow, careful motions. Time stuttered to a pause around them. She nudged his eyewear with her nose, wanting them away from his face. He released one of her hands and placed his shades at the top of his head, pale hair pushed back, eyes closed, attentive to her touch alone. He gently mapped out her features with hesitant lips and one time she dared to take a glimpse from underneath her rust-colored lashes. The Knight was like a galaxy in reversed color tones - he had countless tiny spots on the bridge of his nose and the apple of his cheeks, slightly darker than the rest of the canvas of his skin. His lashes pearly white and his touch so soft; not even Rufioh had ever been like this, no one had ever been like this, no one should ever be like this.

 It had been such a long time since she had last been with someone this way.

 Her usual vulgarities would seem out of place at this moment -so intimate and sweet- and felt like it would taint it irreparably. So she said them - because she was far from sweet and she wasn't going to lie to anybody about herself and how twisted and brutal she could be. She whispered obscenities in his ear as her fingers traced his hipbones; leaning against each other, she could feel his heat seeping into her bones, Dave pressing kisses to her jaw and neck.

Damara wanted to eat this boy, with his alien scent and warm skin and pale lashes and freckled cheeks and sharp angles under lowblood red cloth and the ancient beat of Time with the clock in his chest. He didn't seem to mind and despite her claws and cruel dead eyes, he kissed her with his pink lips like a bird drinking water - overly-cautious yet so very thirsty.

She felt the skin of his hips quiver as she glided her sharp claws lower and lower and reached fine pale hairs right above the hem of his pants. He inhaled sharply and the heavy smell of lust was all around them as the Knight opened his eyes and

  _Tick._

 He was a burning ruby in the palm of her hand, searing red and glinting sharply from every angle. He was wicked too, in his own poisonous self-hatred and his stubborn resolve to stay hidden. His eyes were red and bright like fire; he was her own personal Hell and she never wanted to look away.

 Tock.

 The Witch dug her teeth into his lips and pressed herself to his body, feeling the clock within him tick more loudly than before. He clutched her to his chest as they lowered themselves to the ground. Their kisses turned biting, messy and heated like an obsession. Her hands were insistently pressing into his skin and his palms were all over her back, her thighs, her waist, her shoulders, her ass. It was slowly turning into something heavy and they were unable to stop.

 Tick

 Tock

 Damara tasted him, drank him in like she'd die (hah) if she didn't have it. His skin was sweet and sometimes salty - so wonderfully textured, the memory itself making her mouth water. His mouth was so hot and wet and she clawed at his pants as they kissed because she really wanted him to fuck her.

 Tick

 Tock

 Dave tasted her in turn, kissing her from the tips of her eyelashes to the back of her knees. He peeled away parts of her clothes with his fingers, just a bit, just to reach all those little places with his lips, slowly, methodically. He eventually ended up with his head between her legs and she her hands in his hair and

_oh_

His mouth was so hot it turned her insides into liquid fire, him licking at the inside of her thighs, catching her underwear with his blunt human teeth and licking some more – her juices on his tongue, her skin gently sucked in the inside of his cheeks, her being plunged into with his fingers. She felt every inch of her insistently ravished –like no troll would ever dare, with their claws and teeth so deadly- and perhaps he actually knew what hunger felt like.

Damara was burning, eaten alive by the Knight and she was moaning, gasping under his hands.

Her noises were shameless but genuine and it felt so good it was almost like torture ( _burn the Witch, burn in Hell, burn_ ). She would have demanded of him to go harder, faster, but his motions were intense already, her nook trembling and dripping so much. She did not want to be released just yet, _a little more of this just a little more_.

This beautiful boy was on his knees in front of her, a Knight with his head bowed and underneath the skirt of a Witch ( _she felt worshipped_ ). Her thighs clenched onto his head; he nibbled at her nook and Damara’s grip on his pale hair got so tight the boy groaned with his mouth pressed to her entrance and she fucking had enough to come so hard _oh oh DaveDave fuckin Time boy FUCK_.

The orgasm was long and hard, making her spine arch and her voice high as a harpy’s as she shouted for the whole world to hear. She was out of breath and her bones turned to liquid but her nook never stopped throbbing in painful arousal at his touch. He sucked at her breasts, looking at her in the eye with hot red eyes. Her thighs felt sticky with her own pleasure and she wanted to have his too, so she pulled him into a wet kiss and lowered her hand.

Dave’s skin was even softer down there – fragile even - yet it burned like hot silk underneath her palm. She could feel the large veins in his bulge, heavy and pulsing and Dave’s gasps proved it was oh so sensitive. His hips twitched in a way that made her grin in satisfaction. Damara lowered herself down down down and kissed the tip as she looked at him in the eye. He stroked her cheek like the most affectionate lover and grabbed her face to bring her up and kiss her some more.

 “I don’t think I’ll last any longer if you keep doing that” he groaned and she smiled against his lips at that.

“Time we have, _Day-ve_ ” she whispered back. She lowered herself to the ground taking him down with her. Leaned on her back and wrapped her legs around him. Her skirt was rumpled against her belly, shirt tugged up to her collarbone; she was still wearing her shoes with socks underneath. Underwear gone yet not missed by either of them. She was a sultry little temptress, with fangs under red lips and hair as dark as her soul. Her bun loosened and large clumps spilled like ink around her head. He was kissing her like he was on a mission and she pressed her hips against his, her nook pulsing and his bulge hot on the inside of her thigh.

“ _Mighty red Knight, ride me hard_.” She whispered in his neck and rolled her hips, her breast pressed flush against his chest. Dave groaned in her hair and rubbed her nook with one hand and using his other to bring himself closer. The tip pressed against her entrance, warm and solid.

It slipped in so easily and he groaned as he practically got sucked in. She scratched his shoulders as her nook was being filled and stretched and prodded at from the inside _oh yes_ this was what she needed. It felt so different from a troll bulge but her crotch was throbbing and was getting even wetter how the fuck she was going to shatter into pieces if it could even get any better than this _it was amazing_.

Trolls didn’t need to move their hips since their bulge was prehensile enough to wiggle by itself for stimulation; but the human way of doing it was turning into her favorite, with hips rolling rhythmically against each other, the unbearable heat and hitched breaths in a struggle to get even closer, the lewd sounds as their genetic fluids stuck to their thighs, bodies quivering from the exertion and it was so close so close _fuck I’m so close._

Damara didn’t moan loudly like before, now just a sweaty mess, clinging to Dave, getting out tiny gasps and the highest little peeps and she couldn’t even breathe _fuck me fuck me oh fuck me_. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, she could only feel the body above her, the friction and the heat and the want and the feeling of of of…

Her lungs suddenly filled with air and she found herself screaming to high heaven, scrabbling at his hips and waist as he kept pushing in through her orgasm and it kept going and going and 

“Oh fuck, Damara” he gasped loudly as her nook tightened around him. He felt her fluids, lukewarm and quick and trickling just like water, flooding the entire space around his shaft, overflowing, spilling down their joined hips to the floor and he was gone.

She purred at the utter relaxation in her limbs and the hot fluid flowing inside her.

The Witch embraced the Knight as he leaned his forehead on her chest and tried to remember how to _breathe_. Damara smirked in utter satisfaction, red lips on shark-like teeth and stroked his hair affectionately; he shifted in her grip and buried his nose in her hair and her grin was possessive and wicked as she licked a long stripe on his neck. They were such a mess.

They both were

 so

( _Burned_ )

 messed up.

 ( _Tick_ )

( _Tock._ )

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I do when I have no internet connection for three days. >_>


End file.
